Tell Me Wi-fi
by InevitableConfusion
Summary: Bellamy Blake is having internet problems, and anyone within a ten mile radius knows why. Bellarke. Rated T for strong language.


_Tell Me Wi-fi_

Bellamy sighed, tapping an impatient rhythm on the marble counter top as he waited for the webpage to load. His sister glared at him from her spot on the couch, but he pretended not to notice. He was starting his new teaching job at the local high school on Monday and he wanted to brush up on ideas for creative lesson plans; it wasn't easy to get teenagers excited for history, after all. And his search had been going great.

Until about ten minutes ago, when his internet randomly started crapping out.

Sure, Octavia was on the internet as well and so were both of their cell phones, but that shouldn't have made his good connection suddenly start acting like _dial-up._ He's paying a lot of money for this, damn it!

A loud noise startled him out of his thoughts and he glanced toward his sister, who had slammed her laptop shut and was now staring him down, arms crossed over her chest.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

He blinked in confusion. "What?"

She threw him an incredulous look, sitting up straighter and huffing an overly-dramatic sigh before raising her eyebrows at him. "That's what you sound like. So, what's the matter?"

Bellamy pursed his lips, brows crinkling in frustration as he stared at his computer screen. The page hadn't loaded correctly. Again. "It's this stupid internet connection. I can't get anything to load and I'm not sure why. Has it been giving _you_ any trouble?"

"No, but I've been working on my book critique for the past half-hour so I haven't tried the internet." She stood and walked into the kitchen, plopping down on the bar stool next to him. "Let me see."

He slid his laptop in front of his sister and tried to keep up as she pressed several keys and pulled up multiple programs at once. It was moments like this that always reminded him how tech-savvy Octavia was (and, subsequently, how little he knew about technology). Before he could even blink, she let out an amused snort and he perked up.

Then she threw him a smirk – that signature Blake family smirk – and he suddenly felt concerned. "I found your problem."

She turned his laptop back toward him and his eyes flitted over the screen, raking through the information on the program before stopping suddenly at a name. A very familiar name. Bellamy grunted and yanked his phone out of his pocket, pressing a few buttons and placing the device against his ear. It only rang twice before a voice answered.

" _What's up, buttercup?"_

"Clarke," he groaned rubbing his eyes with a free hand, "what are you doing?"

" _Oh, just chilling. Watching some Netflix."_ She sounded way too innocent. _"What are you doing?"_

"Actually, I decided I'd do some prep work for my classes, but my internet stopped working."

" _Huh. That sucks."_

"Yeah, it does."

" _You know,"_ she popped something into her mouth and started chewing loudly, _"you shouldn't leave your router connection unprotected like that. It just leaves you wide-open to malware and hackers."_

"Or invasive neighbors who like to mooch off of my internet."

" _Exactly."_

He rolled his eyes so hard that it gave him a headache. "Just get off my damn wi-fi, Princess."

" _You got it, boss!"_ And then she hung up.

He let out a tired sigh and rubbed the back of his neck before dragging his gaze over to Octavia, who looked fairly amused. "She's _your_ friend."

"Yours, too."

He said nothing, opting to glare at the screen, refreshing the scan until the offending name disappeared. With a satisfied smile, he turned back to his sister. "So, can you help me get a password on this thing or what?"

It was her turn to roll her eyes, but she turned the screen back toward her anyway. "You're helpless when it comes to computers."

"Why do you think I keep you around?"

She didn't dignify that with a response, already getting lost in her task. Bellamy tried to keep up with her steps, but he had no idea what she was doing and it was quickly losing his interest. He managed to sit there in silence for a few minutes before a mixture of boredom and impatience got the better of him.

"So," he ventured carefully, "are you signed up for my history class?"

Octavia wrinkled her nose. "God, no. I get enough of your lectures _outside_ of school."

.

.

.

The first week of classes had gone surprisingly well.

His students were attentive (for the most part) and he really enjoyed his lectures, filling up every minute that he could with facts and analyses. He didn't even have much difficulty getting his students to participate in class discussions, which was nice.

And, okay, it probably helped that he already knew several of his students fairly well. It's a little weird, but it's just the perks of having a younger sister who was still in high school. Theywere the ones who signed up for his class, anyway.

It just felt good to get teenagers excited about history again.

He dropped his keys on the counter and waltzed into his bedroom so he could change into more casual clothes. Clarke, Miller, and a few other teachers were taking him out for celebratory milkshakes in a few minutes, and he didn't really want to go to the diner in his dress pants. He booted up his laptop and double-clicked the email icon, letting it load as he rooted through his dresser for some clean jeans.

He was just shrugging on his worn leather jacket over a dark v-neck when a little box popped up with a _ding!_ He wandered over to his desk and read the message.

 **ERROR: INTERNET CONNECTION LOST**

Bellamy glanced at the icon at the corner of the screen. Full bars. He squinted in suspicion and paused a moment before pressing a few buttons and typing in the pattern of keys that Octavia had taught him. Sure enough, the program popped up.

And, sure enough, there was the problem.

 **CLARKE'S LAPTOP**

 **CLARKE'S IPAD**

 **CLARKE'S PHONE**

The names glared at him from their place beneath "Connected Devices." He shouldn't have been surprised. Glancing over his router information, he double-checked to make sure the password-protection was still implemented. It was.

Somehow, the little hacker had figured out his password.

He closed the computer, giving up on his email for now, and grabbed his keys before stepping out of his apartment. He locked the door behind him, swiftly crossing the hallway and pounding on the door that read _403._ Clarke stepped out a moment later.

"Ready to go?"

"How did you figure out the password?"

She didn't even glance at him, instead facing her door and fiddling with the lock. "Ah, straightforward as ever."

"Did Octavia tell you?"

She turned and looked at him, eyes dancing. A slow, devious grin spread on her lips and she winked – _fucking winked at him –_ before strutting off down the hall, laughter echoing in his ears. He followed after her, unable to keep his lips from twitching into a smile.

He was definitely changing the password as soon as he got home.

.

.

.

"O, are you telling Clarke my wi-fi password?"

"Bell, even _I_ don't know your password half the time. I don't know how she's getting it."

.

.

.

Two months had passed, _two whole months_ , and she was _still_ weaseling her way onto his wi-fi. At this point he wasn't so annoyed as he was just plain _dumbfounded._

Bellamy pushed the door to the art room open with his hip, two large bags of greasy fast food in one hand and sodas in the other. Clarke instantly shot up from her seat when the smell wafted through the room, dashing over to take one of the bags off his hands and pulling out a handful of french fries.

"Bellamy, you're a lifesaver!"

He smirked and threw her a shrug before meandering over to her desk and dropping the food on it. A couple of kids who were finishing up projects glanced over curiously at them, but he ignored them and pulled up an empty chair. It was lunch period, so technically he was allowed to be wherever the hell he wanted.

He unwrapped his burger and took a large bite as Clarke stuffed her face across from him, all the while gushing about how good the food was.

"Clarke, you act like you haven't eaten in two weeks."

She shrugged. "I had to skip breakfast this morning because I was running late."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "And you weren't gonna grab lunch if I hadn't come along?"

"I've got some projects of my own that I have to finish up before the art show," she explained, nodding toward a large canvas propped against the west wall beneath the windows. The painting looked like it had just been started, as very little actual paint had made it onto the canvas so far. If he squinted, he could make out light pencil sketches of two figures, but he didn't analyze it too much. He'd see the finished product at the art show, anyway.

"You still need to take care of yourself, you know," he said, turning back to her.

She grinned at him, looking ridiculous with a glob of ketchup on the corner of her mouth. "That's what I have you for! Oh _man_ ,this burger is good."

He snorted around the food in his mouth and passed her a napkin, which she took gratefully. "I don't understand how you can eat nothing but junk and _not_ weigh 500 pounds."

"Guess I'm just lucky, huh?"

He swallowed his food and placed his elbows on the desk, leaning closer. "Speaking of lucky, how do you keep figuring out my password?"

She paused for a moment, staring at him seriously before mimicking his pose and leaning in. She beckoned him closer and, for a moment, he wondered if she would actually tell him. And then,

"That's for me to know and you to never find out."

She ruffled his already messy hair with her greasy fingers and he sat back in his chair with a huff, definitely not pouting because _Bellamy Blake does not pout._ "I'm never buying you food again," he grumbled.

Her laughter filled the room and suddenly she was too bright to look at, so he found himself smiling at the ground instead.

.

.

.

"I just don't understand how she's doing it!"

"Dude, you're obsessed."

"Miller, you don't understand. I'm changing my password _every damn week_ and she still figures it out! At this rate, even _I_ won't remember it."

"Okay, okay. Have you asked her how she knows?"

Bellamy threw him a flat look.

.

.

.

Bellamy didn't even bother opening the internet. As soon as he turned on his computer, he opened the program to check what devices were connected.

Eight devices.

Six of which were Clarke's.

Sighing, he changed his password, waltzed over to the router, and rebooted it. He leaned against the wall and stared at the newest addition to the ever-growing art collection hanging in his living room. It was the painting he'd seen in the art room a month ago. Clarke didn't have the heart to sell it, so she gave it to him instead. He let his eyes roam over it yet again as he waited.

It was a picture of him and Octavia kneeling on the beach, the sun setting behind them as they dug in the sand. Bellamy remembered that day; it was almost six years ago, now. A bunch of them had gone to the beach in celebration of Bellamy's graduation when Octavia had suddenly broken down, revealing that her friend Atom was moving away that week. So he'd knelt down and started digging a moat. Together, they built an intricate sand castle – the second-largest one they'd ever made – like they always did when something bad happened. And when the castle was built and the sun had all but disappeared and the waves lapped at their toes, they stood with sand on their knees and lightness in their hearts, knowing that things were going to turn out okay in the end. And they did.

Clarke had apparently snapped a picture at some point. And she'd kept that picture. And now she'd painted that picture.

His phone vibrated and he glanced down at the new message.

 **Clarke:** _This means war._

He huffed a laugh and shook his head, making his way back to his computer and sparing one final glance at the painting. A feeling he was growing too familiar with tugged in his chest, but he ignored it.

.

.

.

Six months.

 _Six._

 _Months._

She'd figured out his password every goddamn week for _six months._

Bellamy let out a pathetic groan the moment Monty voiced his internet problems. He switched open the program, but his frustration morphed into confusion when he realized she only had one device connected instead of the usual sixteen. He opened the internet tab and typed in a search engine, but was even more confused when it instantly refused to load up.

" _Clarke!_ " he roared, storming out into the hallway and banging on the door. She swung it open a moment later, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Hey, Bell. What can I do for you?"

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

She wrinkled her nose at him with a wry smirk, "I found a torrent containing all of the classic animated Disney movies and decided I need a movie marathon ASAP."

He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to ward off a headache, all the rage rushing out of him. "So you're breaking the law _and_ using my internet to do it?"

"Yup." She patted his cheek genially. "I told you it meant war, didn't I?"

He threw her a look, leaning as close as he dared. "I swear to God, Griffin, I will steal all of your chargers if that's what it takes to end this."

She leaned closer. "Is that a promise, Blake?"

"It's a _guarantee._ "

Monty bit back an amused smile, eavesdropping from his spot on Bellamy's couch. The door was still wide open.

.

.

.

Bellamy woke up in a daze and on the floor. He opened bleary eyes and blinked until the figure above him came into focus. It was Clarke. Of course it was.

He groaned as she helped him sit up slowly. "What happened?"

"I should be asking you that," she chided, worry practically pulsing in waves around her. It was then that he noticed Octavia freaking out in the corner of his eye. "Octavia came rushing over to get me, practically hysterical, saying you went to the kitchen for water and then just… _passed out._ " She pulled him to his feet and eased him onto the living room couch. She pressed her palm to his forehead. Her hand was freezing. "You're burning up." His sister ran off to get a wet cloth without a word.

Truth is, Bellamy had been feeling like death the past few days, but he had a lot he needed to do, so he pushed through it. Not that he'd ever tell Clarke. And _especially_ not Octavia. "It's just a head cold."

She gave an undignified snort. " _Just a head cold -_ you're damn lucky my mother's a doctor!" Clarke whipped out her phone suddenly and began furiously typing. A deep frown was tugging at her mouth.

"What are you doing?" he asked, straining his neck in an attempt to see what she was typing. Octavia returned then, pressing the cloth to his forehead. And okay, it helped. A little. (A lot.)

"Thankfully, O is perceptive enough to have caught on to some symptoms in the past few days, and I'm looking them up so I can heal your sorry ass."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. "I didn't tell you my password."

Her eyes shot up to his in disbelief and Octavia let out an inhuman sound.

"Are you _fucking_ _serious?_ You passed out on the kitchen floor and _that_ is what you're worried about?"

"Language, O." Still, he couldn't help but notice the twitch in Clarke's lips as she turned back to her phone.

Several minutes of silence passed, and he busied himself with tracing the decals on his ceiling.

"So you probably have the flu. And also, just so you know, my phone connects automatically."

Octavia groaned loudly as he closed his eyes and grinned. "Of course it does."

"I will murder you both if stress doesn't kill me first."

.

.

.

Bellamy let out a deep breath as he closed the door after a drunken Raven and Wick stumbled out of his apartment, heading downstairs toward the awaiting cab. They'd surprised him for his one-year "teach-iversary" with several bottles of the most quality wine they could afford and proceeded to drink themselves into oblivion. He'd only had one glass.

"You've been sighing a lot lately."

He turned to look at Clarke, who was sprawled out on his couch and messing with her phone. She looked like she belonged here. He _wanted_ her to belong here.

"I have a lot to sigh about," he replied, moving toward the couch. "Are you staying, then?"

She peeked over her phone at him, eyes so blue that he was a bit startled. "Do you want me to leave?"

He plopped down on the other side of the couch. "I didn't say that."

"Good." She tossed her legs across his lap and went back to her phone.

He rolled his eyes and tickled her feet playfully. She kicked his hand. "You know, it's not worth staying if you're just gonna ignore me."

"Who says I'm ignoring you?"

"Oh, I don't know," he leaned over and yanked her phone out of her hands, holding it out of reach, "my internet bill?"

" _For your information_ ," she frowned, reaching in vain for her phone, "I wasn't on the internet. I was playing a game."

"Sure you were."

"I was!" She lunged forward a bit and managed to snatch her phone with a triumphant noise. But instead of turning back to her phone, she set it on the cushion beside her without a second glance.

And climbed into his lap.

"You should really be nice to me," she mumbled, winding her arms around him. His throat went dry as he stared at her. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so they settled on her hips tentatively.

"Why is that?"

"Blackmail?"

"Try again."

She smiled. "Because I'm the one who got you that job."

"Oh really?" he chuckled, "Because my credentials definitely didn't have anything to do with it?"

She scoffed, her fingers playing with the messy curls around his ear. "You wouldn't have even _known_ about that job opening if it wasn't for me!"

"Right, of course. I'm sorry I don't let you mooch off of me like a good neighbor. How can I ever repay you?" he batted his eyes ridiculously and she grinned, leaning in until their noses brushed and his heart jumped.

"I'll think of something."

Her kiss was slow and sweet and stirred a fire deep in his stomach. His hands moved from her hips to curl at her back, pulling her flush against his chest. She buried her hands in his hair in retaliation and he barely suppressed a moan. He'd never been this flustered over a kiss before, and the constant reminder that it was _Clarke_ made everything so much better.

She broke away and barely managed to catch a breath before he closed the distance once again.

.

.

.

It wasn't until much, much later that she revealed her secret. Apparently his students always showed up to art class talking about what 'Mr. Blake' had taught them that day.

"Don't base your password off your lesson plans, Bell."

 _End._

* * *

It's been a while, but I'm back! I have to say, I've been slightly obsessed with The 100, so to help cope with the massive hiatus until Season 3, I've turned to reading and writing obsessively. So expect more stories in the future. Lots more. Probably.

This was a ton of fun to write, though I think Clarke was a bit OOC (but it usually takes at least one story for me to get a feel for a character's personality). Also, I just had to use that title. I just HAD to.

Thanks for reading! I'd be eternally grateful for any feedback, including anonymous comments and constructive criticism!

xo

(NOTE: Let me know if you think I should bump up the rating. There is some fairly strong language in here.)


End file.
